Leadership Marks
by ricca
Summary: Six months ago Tris Prior earned first rank among the Dauntless initiates and chose to join the Faction Leaders. Tonight she earned the right to wear their marks. No war, no divergence. Eris one shot, complete.


**A/N: This scene was initially inspired by all the fics where Tris becomes a leader under Eric's guidance, but none of them (as of yet) have gotten to the point where she actually gets the tattoos. This is my contribution to the genre! I am also apparently really, really not so great at writing sex scenes. This is why you haven't seen the second installment of Body Shots – writing triads is even harder than pairs. This is also a rough (ha) attempt at practice for future fics. Any feedback would be deeply (ha ha) appreciated.**

* * *

He had sought her out that night, her first night as a fully recognized member of the Dauntless Faction, after she had received her final initiation score and earned her place, declared her intents to join the ranks of the leaders. Four cold imperial faces had witnessed her claim her right in their ranks and they alone had the right to fulfill it. Eric had said nothing then, but he had knocked at the door of her new residence a scarce few hours later, almost before she had finished surveying her new living quarters, and wordlessly escorted her to a bar.

He ordered her a whiskey and a double for himself.

Tris had stared at the smooth surface of the amber fluid, cautious, almost apprehensive. "I don't-"

"Drink," Eric gave the order quietly, eyes glinting with a dark threat of barely contained violence.

 _We make soldiers here, not rebels._

She obeyed, tipping the glass back and trying to ignore the caustic taste on her tongue and the burn in her chest that the spirit left behind. His expression was blank where hers was screwed up, eyes watering against the unfamiliarity.

He didn't say anything then, either, simply stood and indicated for her to follow him again, up dozens of stairs until they stood in the highest gallery overlooking the Pit. From this distance the ground below seethed with motion, too far away for her to easily make out the individual figures that made up the crowds. He stood beside her, a heavy hand between her shoulders forcing her forward against the narrow railing, anchoring her in place above the far away floor.

"You lead these people now." His voice was gravelly and quiet, warm against her ear. "They will hate you for being a transfer, a little girl, for exceling above what they achieved." Out of the corner of her eye she saw him grin, too little humor and too many teeth. "If you do not become what they need, if you cannot make them follow you, you will fail. If you betray Faction ideals you will die." The idea didn't seem to concern him overmuch, but Tris wasn't so sure she wasn't about to be sick on the people so far below.

She swallowed with some difficulty.

He wasn't done talking, apparently. "Everything you do is a reflection on me. If you make me look bad in front of anyone, you will only wish you had failed your first jump off the train."

Tris shivered at the memory, that first moment of terrifying exhilaration where she had landed on the roof; the twisted, broken Dauntless girl who had not.

His hand moved from her shoulders to her chin, forcing her to turn and look up at him. "Got it?"

Eric was objectively the most terrifying person she had ever met. He could, quite probably, kill her right now and she'd be nothing except a curious disappearance, forgotten at the next incident. "I got it." Somehow her voice was steady, a show of strength she hadn't known she possessed in this scenario.

"Good," His hands were thrust back in the pockets of his cargos and he was once again a respectable distance away from her. Eric stared down at the Pit a moment longer and then turned sharply on his heel and stalked off into the darkness. "Seven tomorrow. Don't be late."

Tris glared at the dusky corridor he disappeared into. She was never late.

That had been six months ago…

* * *

Six months was an eternity that flew by in endless rounds of physical and mental training, visits to all the different places that members of the Dauntless faction patrolled or stood sentinel or labored, obtaining an intermediate understanding of their role in the great web of interaction that made up Chicago's society and economy, and practicing the analytical skills that allowed the senior leaders to make the decisions that resonated through the ranks.

It would have been hard at the best, and learning under Eric had been particularly brutal. He had a gift of sniffing out weakness and attacking it until she strengthened under the onslaught or shattered. He didn't like her, but was a good soldier and perfectly committed to executing his task of training her to her new position.

The seventh month of training would start in a few days. Tris wasn't sure if the leaders were going to extend her trial; no one had mentioned anything out of the ordinary, though, and so she had gone about her duties as ordered. When they finally realized that however hard they hammered her with physical and psychological training she wasn't going to roll off or quit or break down, they'd let her know and until then she'd just keep going on. She was good at that.

The training room was quiet, dark and cool, unused on this late Friday evening and it felt good to exchange her riot gear for gym shorts and a tank top, better to work her body through the circuits of calisthenics and cardio, pushing muscles stiff and sore from holding stun-batons and plastic shields, wading through an ocean of Factionless bodies gathered to protest their living conditions, leading a squad to disperse the crowd with the right mix of brutality and civility. Sweat dripped off her nose as she pushed harder, always harder, trying to banish the angry-afraid eyes that had tracked her through the day. Her knuckles stung as they thumped against the bag and a cool, disinterested voice interrupted her quiet.

"Did the medics clear you for physical activity?"

Tris finished the sequence of moves that ended with her elbow slamming into the bag where her opponent's head would be and looked up at her mentor, leaning casually against the door to the gym, cleaning under his nails with a knife. "I didn't ask." She bit back, temper fraying at the interruption. "Today's reports are on your desk. Is there a problem?"

His expression was different, neither his default bored stare nor the sneer he brought out when she had just fucked up. There was a smirk that was familiar, and a glint in cool grey eyes that was not. He studied her a moment longer, before responding. "No. Got a minute?"

"I'm a little busy," She nodded at the dummy, slumped to one side from the repeated abuse and ran her hands through her sweat-damped ponytail.

Eric grunted, or maybe laughed; the sound was dry, bereft of any good spirit or amusement. "Do it tomorrow. This is more important." He kicked the doorstop away and let the gym door slam behind him, crossing closer, invading her space in the way he knew she hated, perhaps because he knew she hated it.

Tris crossed her arms over her chest and shifted impatiently, using the interruption to calm her racing pulse and even her breathing. "What's the big news, if it's so important?"

"Senior leadership met this afternoon to discuss your candidacy while we were putting down the Factionless riot," Eric left the statement hanging, tantalizing, in the space between them.

"And?" Her heart was in her throat, each thump echoing in her head. She had worked hard, gone above what was required, she shouldn't be nervous. She was.

"Go see for yourself. The announcement was posted an hour ago."

She boggled at him a minute longer and then dashed out the door, forgoing shoes and keys in her haste as his low laugh followed her down the long cement hall. The barracks were empty at this time of night, residents either lingering over dinner or partaking in the entertainment in the Pit, so no one was there to witness her come to a skidding stop in front of the broadcast screen in the common area, raking the scrolling announcements greedily until it came up: _Leadership would like to extend a formal recognition to Tris Prior as the new Junior Leader…_ She didn't wait to read any further, just clamped her hands over her mouth to muffle a shriek of very un-Abnegation-like delight and spun to face Eric who had followed her. "I did it!"

He curled his lip in the familiar sneer at her ridiculous squeal. "Of course you did."

"That's," Tris hesitated, his cold demeanor battling with the warmth of her excitement and coming up decidedly confused in her own head. Of course he didn't like her, was he upset by this? He had sought her out; that seemed to imply some feeling of decency when it would have cost him nothing to make her wait. She struggled and tried to find the right words, "Thanks, Eric. I guess you're stuck with me now."

Eric snorted and took a water bottle out of a cooler by the wall. He broke the seal and took a gulp before tossing it over to her. "We'll see who's stuck with whom."

The plastic was slippery with condensation; Tris fumbled and then righted the container, twisting the cap off and draining the remainder. She looked up at Eric, curious, "Is it that different from training?"

"Not really," Eric admitted, relaxing infinitesimally. "Slower, more tedious, since you're not trying to cram everything into a few months, more office work. Though the way things are going with the Factionless, who knows if that'll stay true?" He frowned at the prospect. "Come on, if we go now you can probably get you marked before the tattooists close for the night."

Tris felt her heart skip a beat at the idea, "Give me just a sec, I'm disgusting." Not bothering to wait for a response, she darted to the showers, shedding her sticky clothes as she went. There'd be a price to pay for this brazen attitude, she knew, Eric had a way of exacting revenge whenever she flouted the spirit of his orders, or delayed him, and this would surely be no different. So she kept her shower short and icy, dragging clean jeans and tank over still damp skin and throwing her wet hair on top of her head. He was lounging, there was no other word that applied, more or less where she had left him. "Okay?"

"It's your funeral," Eric smirked again and held the door open with what might have been mistaken for gallantry from anyone else. He stayed close as they walked down from the residence, around the edge of the Pit where the weekly Friday night shindig was in full seething force to the commerce area where shops had been carved into living rock. His hand on the small of her back, he ushered her in under the familiar orange sign of the tattoo parlor.

"Tris!" Tori stepped out from behind the counter, smiling. "It's good to see you again! It's been a long time." Her expression tightened when she glanced at Eric and she nodded once at him. "Eric."

Eric stared at the artist, impassive and unimpressed. "Tori."

"What can I do for you tonight?" Tori was all business in front of the mirthless leader, arms folded across her chest, almost defensive.

"Leadership marks for her," He jerked his chin at the tiny blond. "On Max's authorization."

Tori glanced between the two, "Dick's gone home for the night. I'm not sure I could hold her and do the design..."

"I'll do it," Eric shrugged the excuse away along with the conflicting looks the two women sent him. "Tonight, if you don't mind, so we can get on with this celebration shit."

A muscle in Tori's jaw flexed and she nodded, "All right, come this way." She led them to the back of the shop where her tools were laid out beside a flat bench, and she patted the vinyl covering. "Lie down, Tris. Have you done this before, Eric?"

"Nope," He moved to the head of the bench, out of Tris' line of sight as Tori rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

"Well, keep standing right there, for now. Tris, we'll do your left side first, so roll over on your right," Tori bustled around, grabbing a flat cushion and wedging it under Tris' head as she lay on her side facing the empty workstation across from Tori's. "Eric, you'll need to hold her here and here," She nudged him aside and lay her hands on Tris' jaw and shoulder. "Tris, you need to hold yourself still as best you can, okay? It's going to hurt like a son of a bitch, but we'll go as slow as you need."

Tris grimaced and strained her neck to glower up at Eric, who wasn't even trying to hide his amusement. "You couldn't offer to get me drunk before I did this?"

"Alcohol thins your blood and makes it harder to hold still," He chuckled, earning a startled look from Tori where she was prepping her needles. "Afterwards, lightweight."

"Lightweight yourself," Tris sassed back at him and then was forced to be quiet as his enormous hand pressed down on her jaw, pinning her head against the padding on the bench.

"Stencil first," Tori held up the transfer sheet. "You don't need to do anything for this part." Eric smoothed his expression away and stepped back as the design was transferred onto Tris' neck, first the left and then the right side. "Okay, sit up, how does that look?" Tori offered a mirror and Eric moved around to her front to study the design as well.

Tris eyed the stark lines that traced upward from the slant of her trapezius to just under her jaw. It was intimidating, even with the empty spaces that would need to be inked in. "Looks good to me." She glanced up at Eric's overwhelming stare.

"It'll do," He blinked as the lines flexed when she swallowed, tilting her head up to meet his eyes and he moved back to the head of the bench and out of her line of sight.

Tris lay back down and tried to get comfortable as the tattoo gun hummed to life and Eric's hands returned to her skin, brushing a few errant strands of hair away from where they clung to the drying stencil ink. The first jab of the needle felt like it was piercing into her skull and she stiffened, focusing on her breathing and casting around for anything to distract herself from the needle boring into her skin. Eric's hands on her face were a good source of that, she found, warm and rough from constant use in combat. They were good hands, she decided, and then wondered if she might already be delirious from pain not five minutes into her session; that wasn't very suited to a Dauntless leader and his fingers tightened as she bit back a giggle.

The sound of the gun died down and the sensation of being sliced open stopped. Tori's voice floated from somewhere on her left, "Tris? Are you doing okay?"

The pressure on her jaw eased and Tris blew out a breath, "Yeah, sorry."

"You're doing great," Tori smiled and then shot a warning glare at Eric, daring him to say anything to contradict her.

The pressure of his hands returned, and Tris fancied she could feel a heartbeat through his palms. There was no escape from the pain once the outline was done and the filling process began. It crashed around her like a wave, leaving her dizzy and light-headed, as though she was hovering over the bench, weightless. It was easy to think that without the hands bracing her down she might have just floated away. Time passed uncounted until the needle stopped again, replaced by an irritating wipe and a harsh chemical smell.

"That's one down," Tori set her tattoo gun down and stretched until her back crunched. "I'm going to take a breather and get a drink; I'll bring you something back. Now would be a good time to use the restroom, if you need it." She turned and walked off, disappearing into the shadow with the click of her heeled boots against the stone floor.

Strong hands helped her into a sitting position and the skin on her neck burned as she tried to restore the feeling in her shoulders. Heavily she blinked up at the cool features of her leader and tried to string a sentence together to break the heavy silence.

Eric huffed a short laugh and dragged his fingers down the fresh ink, "Tough little thing, aren't you?"

Tris narrowed her eyes up at him and tried not to shiver as his touch burned into her raw skin. "Careful, Eric; that almost sounded complimentary."

"Take it as you like," The bland expression dropped back into place, though his fingers lingered a moment longer, smeared in blood and ink against her skin before he withdrew. "Get up, walk around. It'll help."

She complied, stamping life back into stiff legs and stretching her back. Up here, there was only the faintest hum of heavy bass emanating from the Pit party, and she circled the narrow confines of the store twice before returning to the bench. "Is there a mirror anywhere?"

Eric performed the most cursory of searches of Tori's supplies and flipped over a large rectangle of reflective glass, holding it at chest height.

The effect was amazing, Tris decided, far superior to anything she might have dared dream of on her own. Her skin was flushed and angry around the left side of her neck around the heavy black bars raised in ink, but the effect was fierce, unquestionably, forever Dauntless. "I love it." She couldn't help touching one of the narrow bars that terminated under her jaw.

Eric gave her an odd look, "The second side is worse."

"Lucky me," Tris shrugged and stepped closer to the mirror, keen on committing her new marks to memory. She glanced at the tattoos on Eric's neck a few times, comparing them to hers. "Yours are different."

His free hand touched the side of his neck reflexively and Eric shrugged. "Guess so."

"Is there a reason why?"

"Because you have a scrawny neck," He rolled his eyes.

Tris scowled at him, and turned her back on him to greet Tori's return, accepting the offered bottle of juice and drinking it down. The artist had also, surprisingly, brought a beer back for Eric as well as a bottle of water and a half-eaten sandwich. "Thank you, Tori."

The older Dauntless woman smiled and wolfed down the rest of her meal, before slapping the bench top lightly and going back to her tools. "Ready?"

There was really only one appropriate answer to that. Tris hopped back up onto the bench and lay down on her recently inked side, exposing her neck to Tori and Eric once more. Again, Eric took hold of her shoulder and jaw, pinning her down as the needle buzzed against her skin again. Then there was pain, and nothing else, for a very long time. The idea that she had to be still drifted in and out of her conscious mind, and indistinct voices murmured far away.

"Tris? You still with us, kiddo?"

The buzzing in her bones stopped and Tris blinked up at serious black eyes. "Keep going," She ordered and something, someone stroked her hair briefly before the immeasurable pressure returned to her jaw and crushed her against the bench. The needle jabbed again, the thin skin around her larynx, and oh holy fuck it hurt. Much worse than the first side had, worse than the crows silhouetted against her collarbone, worse even than the shank she had taken through her palm a few weeks ago. She hadn't really believed Eric's warning, but torn between the pressure on her fresh ink and the burning into fresh skin that shot agony lancing into her teeth it felt like he had understated it. There was no room to escape in her head, no distraction; wherever her thoughts went the burning cutting overtook her and dragged her back under until she died, drowning under the sensations.

"Fucking hold her!" Tori's voice came from very far away and the terrible pressure across her throat shifted, bearing down on her chest and shoulders before the feeling was overwritten with more searing pressure of the tattoo gun. It lasted forever until suddenly it was gone and Tris slowly found her way to her body again. A sigh of relief tore itself out of her soul and she blinked up at Tori's narrow face, furrowed in a pensive scowl at her latest piece as she wiped blood and ink spatters off her arms. "All done, you survived."

The artiest managed a tired smile and Tris nodded, tortured skin tugging uncomfortably with the movement. "Thank you."

"Any time." The smile warmed to genuine and Tori made a small quick shooing motion with her hands. "Now go off and celebrate, I need to close up."

Big hands spattered with black ink helped her sit up and pushed at her shoulder to nudge her off the bench. Eric loomed behind her and frowned as she stared up at him. "What are you waiting for, permission?"

Tris rolled her eyes and waved goodbye to the tattoo artist. She wasn't completely immune to Eric's bullshit, but it was so impersonal, aimed at everything in his immediate vicinity, that the options had been to stop taking it personally or stop training under him. "You said something about a drink."

"Well there aren't any here. Charge the costs of this to Max." Eric snapped the order to Tori and shoved past Tris, ignoring the artist's scowl in his direction and slipped out of the tattoo shop into the maze of tunnels.

Tris trotted after him, still caught up in processing her ordeal, sitting automatically beside him at the bar that he chose and ordered a beer from the server. The bartender's eyes lingered on her new ink, still red and angry and slid a tall glass of foaming amber liquid over to her before filling Eric's request for a whiskey. The cold drink helped her throat, soothed a burn she hadn't noticed amid the conflicting discomforts. "Did I scream?" She addressed the question to the foam on her drink, but Eric answered anyway.

"Everyone does."

Tris watched the ink ripple over his throat as he took a long drink in her peripheral vision. Staring was rude but she couldn't look away. "Even you?"

"Everyone." He reiterated, not looking at her the same way she wasn't looking at him. "Congratulations, new blood. Go have fun with your friends or something."

The skin pulled again as Tris turned her head, scanning the crowd in the bar for someone who might be Christina or Will. "Being in the same initiate class didn't mean we were friends." Friendship should have survived her admittance into the leadership program and her breakup, such as it had been, with Four.

Eric grunted at the truth in that and let the topic drop, silence settling between them as an estuary of peace in the din of the bar until the skin on her neck began to itch and Tris reached up to relieve the sensation. Before she could process the movement, Eric's hand shot out and forced her wrist down.

"Don't fuck them up." His eyes stayed fixed on the small glass cradled in his hand as he pressed her arm down against the rough stone countertop.

Tris glared up at him, tugging futilely on the trapped limb. "I wasn't going to 'fuck them up'." The swear felt odd, foreign and uncomfortable to speak aloud but the corner of his mouth twitched in response and maybe it wasn't so bad.

"Then don't touch it," Eric advised, releasing her hand and tossing back the rest of his whiskey, nodding appreciatively when it was refilled.

"It is really itchy," The skin on her throat crawled, tugging and tight, begging for something to soothe it. Tris drained the dregs of her beer and in a sudden flash of inspiration, pressed the cool glass against the irritation. It was perfect, instant relief and she sighed, blissful.

"What the hell are you doing?" Eric had apparently given up on pretending to ignore her and was giving her a moderately scathing look. "You're a leader now, behave like one."

Tris returned his look with a frosty scowl of her own and begrudgingly gave up her empty glass for a full one. "And I should follow your example?"

"If you think you can." Eric shrugged, refused to be baited.

The only appropriate response to that was the rudest gesture she knew, even if it wasn't particularly bad by Dauntless standards, and when Eric remained unfazed, Tris went back to picking at a heavy groove in the counter with her nails in a desperate attempt to leave her new tattoos untouched.

"You know the shops sell ointment to help with the healing, right?"

"The stops are closed, Eric," Tris growled and snuck her hands back up to paw at her discomfort again while Eric was distracted mid-sip. He should have been focused on his liquor, her body should have blocked the movement from his view, but he spun the seat of her stool and caught her creeping hand in an iron grip, the violence of the action yanking her out of her seat and stumbling against his side.

"I have some you can use." Tris stared up at him, almost frozen in surprise as her mind fought to catch up on the last half-second's activity. Eric set his empty glass down on the counter and stared back at her evenly, locked eyes consuming her whole world, leaving Tris dry-mouthed and struggling for words.

"Oh," She found the ones she needed after a moment of effort. "I guess that works."

"Finish your beer," Eric ordered and eased, but did not entirely release, his grip on her.

That sounded like an excellent idea to Tris and though it was awkward to hold the pint glass with her left hand, somehow she managed and wiped the foam off her upper lip when she was finished. The room spun, vertigo, as she stood and grabbed Eric's shoulder for support until the darkness receded and the floor stopped spinning under her boots. "Let's go, then." Her legs were steady as they wound back to the living spaces and Eric punched his entry code into the door, nudging her inside.

"Wait here." Eric ordered and disappeared into the unit's bathroom.

Tris idled in the almost familiar room, grinning at her reflection in the mirror hanging behind the door. The effect of the marks, even unhealed as they were, was simple indescribable.

Eric's reflection appeared, behind her, and his eyes found hers in the mirror. "It's good ink. Wu knows her stuff." He tossed a small white tube from hand to hand, and then briefly dangled it over her shoulder, pulling it back when she turned to grab it out of his hand. "Turn around."

Tris complied and watched as he squeezed an even coating of medicine onto his fingers and brought them up slowly, his eyes on her face, watching, waiting for some sign that she wanted him to stop. She was brave, Dauntless and now a leader, retreating from this, from him was beneath her. Braced unflinchingly, Tris held herself still as Eric spread the paste on his fingers over her throat, distributing the medication over the black brands on her neck. It was heaven, better than the chilled glass, better than chocolate and she sighed happily, muscles relaxing as Eric, big intimidating demanding neurotic perfectionist that he was, covered the abused flesh with salve and rubbed it in to relieve the pain and help her heal.

Eventually, too soon, he completed his task, wiping the extraneous paste off on his pants, stepping back and examining his handiwork. "Better?"

"Thank you," It came out a dreamy, contented, sigh and Tris smiled lazily up at him, her eyes lingering on his marks. "Can I touch yours?"

Eric looked startled for the first time she could recall and he hesitated before responding, attention focused on screwing the cap back on the bottle of healing cream. "What?"

"Your marks," Tris elaborated, brain supplying several possible alternatives for what he might have thought she was asking. The prospective theories made her blush, but she steeled herself and took a step closer.

"Oh," Eric frowned, not his angry frown, not his bored frown, not even his default frown and looked like he was weighing his options before speaking again. "Whatever, I guess." He pocketed the white plastic tube, crossed his arms over his chest and braced himself in wait.

Her heart hammered in her mouth and a small, persistent part of her brain demanded that she run screaming from the room, insisted on knowing what particular insanity had triggered this request so that it could be avoided in the future. Tris knew how to ignore that voice, now, even if she couldn't ever shut it up completely. Wetting her lips, mouth dry, she forced her legs forward and raised her hand, dragging two fingers down the geometric blocks that marched down either side of Eric's neck. His pulse thrummed under her fingers, delicate for a big, harsh looking man, and she felt as well as saw the muscle tense, flexing as he swallowed. "You should go. Now." Eric's words were loud in the silence, suddenly oppressive and the muscles in his forearms twitched as he clenched his hands into fists.

That was one order she couldn't follow, not yet. Not with one last question hanging over her head, dominating her thoughts. "Why'd you tell me those things, the night I chose to be a leader?"

Eric's expression shifted, tightened, and Tris knew he was remembering that grim exchange. His hands engulfed hers, forcing them down from his neck, holding them in the empty space between. "The others, Max, Victoria, Bruce, they didn't think you'd succeed."

Tris shook her head, she didn't want to believe that, "They let me in! Why would they-"

"They didn't care." Eric's unchanging expression was absolutely damning. "There's always someone else who can be trained, a new number 1 next year, or the year after."

"But you did?" Her stomach flipped at the notion.

Eric dropped her hands and took a half step back as though he wanted to physically remove himself from her suggestion. "I wasn't going to eat the shit they served just on their say-so." He jammed his hands in his pockets and scowled at her. "Transfer, remember? They say you leave your Faction behind when you make your Choice, but the world is full of fucking people who will never let you forget." Grimly, he turned his back on her and stalked across the room, grabbing a bottle from the small refrigeration unit. His face, when he turned back to her, was much more composed.

It was possible that this was all a concoction to create suspicion between her and the others, but that seemed unlikely. "I hadn't thought about that."

Eric snorted rudely, pulling the tab on his beer. "Obviously."

Sometimes Tris wondered what ridiculous thoughts rattled around the Leader's brain that made him say the crazy rude things he did, and if he might not benefit from a good hard shake. All ready she could feel that moment of sensuality slipping away from her own curiosity and wanted to curse her lack of foresight. "Thank you," She said at last, because she had to say something, didn't she? "I won't let you down."

The second snort was no less rude, but it was quieter, maybe melancholy, if it had come from someone else. "We'll see. Good night, Tris."

His eyes met hers as he gulped his beer and she knew a dismissal when she heard it. Still, it felt wrong to leave on this note, and a little bit of recklessness pushed her to cross the space between them and run her fingers lightly over the line of his jaw, stretch up on her toes to kiss his chastely on the cheek. "Good night, Eric." Coward that she was, she turned on her heel and walked briskly away, pulling the door open and practically marching down the hallway.

Behind her, unseen and unknown, Eric froze, before bringing a hand up to touch where the press of her lips lingered. He was not often an impulsive person, but suddenly it seemed unfathomable, unforgivable, to not try something a little different. As casually as he could manage, he stuck his head out the open door, finding the figure shrinking in the distance. "Hey, Tris?" He didn't yell, didn't shout; if she couldn't hear him he'd take it as a sign and just shut everything from tonight away in his thoughts.

The girl faltered, about to turn the corner, and Tris glanced over her shoulder at the head popped out of the open door. The query was a summons and it was against her nature to refuse one. Her legs wanted to run back, mind concocting a dozen dangerous reasons why Eric might be calling her back after such a quick banishment, but they were all equally improbable. It was probably more work, some last minute crisis that was being foisted off on her as the junior person. So she quashed the unwarranted excitement down and walked sedately back. "Yes?"

"Come here." His hands were around her waist suddenly and without any further warning, and she grabbed the front of his vest equally. Either she pulled or he lifted and the distance between them was as though it had never existed at all, gravitational fields of attraction drawing them both a single, inevitable conclusion. There was no shyness or restraint, teeth clicking together, nipping at soft flesh, tongues stroking pushing and pulling, equal in this if nothing else. Eric's hands had moved south from her waist, palming her ass and wrapping around the backs of her thighs, lifting her off her feet. She had just enough composure to avoid a very un-Dauntless squeak of surprise at the sudden movement and wrapped her legs around his waist, relishing the height this new position gave her as he carried her back into his apartment and kicked the door shut behind them.

His tattoo tasted like him, she discovered, like sweat and leather and something so fundamentally Eric it was impossible to describe. He groaned as she nipped the ink-darkened flesh and maybe her name was lost in there somewhere and maybe not. When she ground her hips fruitlessly against his, seeking more, he retaliated by grabbing a fistful of her tangled hair, drawing her head back and exposing her freshly marked throat. Tris whined, just a little, as he teased the contrasting pink and black. His mouth against her skin was a different kind of torture, so slow, each spot carefully selected tasted and then abandoned too quickly; she pulled against the pressure on her scalp, wanting to take more for herself.

Eric chuckled, rich and dark against the unmarked hollow of her throat and still holding her as though she weighed nothing, sat down on his couch, fingertips dragging over her jean-covered thighs. "Last chance," The careful restraint was back, his eyes were hooded and not quite meeting hers as he nodded behind her, "Door's right there."

"I know where the door is," Tris all but snarled the reply. She would not be warned away, would not let anyone tell her what was too much for her to handle. She was Dauntless, a leader, she could handle a little bit of recklessness. Rearranging her legs she rubbed lewdly against Eric again, taking advantage of his distraction to begin working his vest open.

Eric smirked then, a different expression in this context from his usual derision and skated his hands under her shirt as she worked to free him of his. His fingers left trails of fire in their wake as he dragged them up her sides, brushing against the underside of her breasts and completely distracting Tris from her task. A small fluttery sound escaped her throat as she tilted her head back, sinking into the sensation of his hands on her.

He nipped at her shoulder and in a quick smooth motion drew her shirt over her head, tossing it to the ground. Tris shivered and pressed closer, arching her back as he dragged his nails along her sides. His shirt, she decided, was a lost cause, and she slipped her fingers under the thin cotton, exploring the flesh ridged with muscle and scar by touch alone. He pressed against her in response, a quiet groan escaping as she explored lower, skirting the waistband of his jeans.

A brisk rap on the door froze them both in place. "Eric? You in?" A harsh female voice called from outside.

Eric grabbed her hand hard enough to hurt as Tris brushed the front of his jeans, teasing. "What do you want, Vicky?"

"How about a little God damn respect?" The question sounded rhetorical. "Max wants you and the newbie in his office- ten minutes."

"Whatever, I'll be there." Eric's voice hitched as Tris popped the button on his fly with her free hand and dropped his voice as the thud of boots faded away. "I had no idea you'd be such a fucking tease."

"A tease wouldn't follow through," The look her words elicited sent heat melting to her core, and she refused to shy away as her fingers met hot hard skin under his pants. Eric hissed and bucked against her hand, it was probably the closest to a concession she'd get from him.

He shifted as she freed his erection and ran her fingers along the unfamiliar anatomy, his own hands scrambling at the front of her jeans, "Pants off."

He might have meant it as an order, but sounded more like a prayer to Tris, who pumped him lightly, in awe of the power she had come to have. It was good to be able to answer one, and she hopped up, stumbling on stiff legs and tight jeans, kicking her pants off impatiently and then slipping back on his lap as Eric fished a condom out of the side table and rolled it on. The brief lack of contact seemed to have steadied Eric, his hands on her were less frantic, though no less needy as he nudged her underwear aside and ran a lazy finger down her labia. "Better?" Her voice cracked as it was her turn to be teased, his big suddenly unfamiliar fingers circling her clit without connecting.

"Much," He grinned, actually grinned, up at her and, wrapping his hands around her legs, hitched her a little closer. Tris gasped at the first direct contact, pressing close and becoming suddenly, abruptly aware of his cock pressing close against her inner thigh. It felt right to press against it, to torment them both with the fleeting contact, but it wasn't enough.

Looking down at him was funny, the angle was all difference; she liked it. Eric's hair was soft and short, just barely long enough to tug lightly as she brought her mouth back down to his for a kiss, steeling her nerve and slowly lowering down onto his dick. She felt, more than heard, him groan into her mouth and Tris reciprocated with a nip to his lower lip, bracing against his shoulders as their hips met after an eternity. It was a heady sensation, to be stretched and filled, it felt good and she raised herself back up, settling into a lazy rhythm.

Eric upset it all by fingering her clitoris again as he thrust up to meet her and lightning flashed behind her eyes. Her control was an illusion, and he masterfully undid it with a few quick flicks of his hand, sending her spiraling out of orbit as their hips snapped together. Someone was panting, mewling, groaning, soft helpless sounds intermingling with a litany of male cursing as every muscle coiled like a spring, pleasure settling warm and languorous in her limbs. Eric held her tightly and pressed deep one final time, breathing heavily against her shoulder.

Sweat shone on the back of his neck and shoulders, Tris shifted her weight and ran a hand through his hair, dropping a kiss on the top of his head because that was the closest part of him, and moving anywhere except to lie down and sleep forever was too much effort. "I guess we should get going?"

His arms wrapped around her waist, daring Tris to try and escape, as Eric signed against her skin. "Screw 'em," He mumbled, "Let them come find us."

"Like this?" Tris raised an eyebrow, an expression she had learned from their constant interactions. "I don't think that's a great idea."

"Going to make me your dirty little secret?" Eric pulled his head up, the lazy warmth retreating from his eyes at the suggestion.

"I thought you were supposed to be the smart one here," Tris caressed his hair again and kissed the corner of his mouth to take the sting out of the criticism. "No, I'm not. I'm just not quite ready to shout from the rooftops yet, I don't even know what this is."

Her answer seemed to placate him, at least a little, and he captured her mouth for a proper kiss. "I suppose that's fair." Reaching around, he smacked her ass lightly. "Get up and get going, then. Let's see what our masters want."


End file.
